the catrine woods were yellow seen,
the flowers decay'd on catrine lee,
nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
but nature sicken'd on the e'e.
thro' faded groves maria sang,
hersel' in beauty's bloom the while;
and aye the wild-wood ehoes rang,
fareweel the braes o' ballochmyle!
low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;
ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers,
again ye'll charm the vocal air.
but here, alas! for me nae mair
shall birdie charm, or floweret smile;
fareweel the bonie banks of ayr,
fareweel, fareweel! sweet ballochmyle!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns fragment—her flowing locks fragment—her flowing locks
her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
adown her neck and bosom hing;
how sweet unto that breast to cling,
and round that neck entwine her!
her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
o' what a feast her bonie mou'!
her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
a crimson still diviner!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns halloween halloween 注释标题 is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings are abroad on their baneful midnight errands; particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary,.—r.b.
the following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of scotland. the passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.—r.b.
yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
the simple pleasure of the lowly train;
to me more dear, congenial to my heart,
one native charm, than all the gloss of art.—goldsmith.
upon that night, when fairies light
on cassilis downans dance,
or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
on sprightly coursers prance;
or for colean the rout is ta'en,
beneath the moon's pale beams;
there, up the cove, to stray an' rove,
amang the rocks and streams
to sport that night;
amang the bonie winding banks,
where doon rins, wimplin, clear;
where bruce ance rul'd the martial ranks,
an' shook his carrick spear;
some merry, friendly, countra-folks
together did convene,
to burn their nits, an' pou their stocks,
an' haud their halloween
fu' blythe that night.
the lasses feat, an' cleanly neat,
mair braw than when they're fine;
their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,
hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin':
the lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs
weel-knotted on their garten;
some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs
gar lasses' hearts gang startin
whiles fast at night.
then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail,
their stocks【1】 maun a' be sought ance;
【1】the first ceremony of halloween is pulling each a “stock,” or plant of kail. they must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells—the husband or wife. if any “yird,” or earth, stick to the root, that is “tocher,” or fortune; and the taste of the “custock,” that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the “runts,” are placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house are, according to the priority of placing the “runts,” the names in question.—r. b.]
they steek their een, and grape an' wale
for muckle anes, an' straught anes.
poor hav'rel will fell aff the drift,
an' wandered thro' the bow-kail,
an' pou't for want o' better shift
a runt was like a sow-tail
sae bow't that night.
then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
they roar an' cry a' throu'ther;
the vera wee-things, toddlin, rin,
wi' stocks out owre their shouther:
an' gif the custock's sweet or sour,
wi' joctelegs they taste them;
syne coziely, aboon the door,
wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them
to lie that night.
the lassies staw frae 'mang them a',
to pou their stalks o' corn;
but rab slips out, an' jinks about,
behint the muckle thorn:
he grippit nelly hard and fast:
loud skirl'd a' the lasses;
but her tap-pickle maist was lost,
whan kiutlin in the fause-house
wi' him that night.
the auld guid-wife's weel-hoordit nits
are round an' round dividend,
an' mony lads an' lasses' fates
are there that night decided:
some kindle couthie side by side,
and burn thegither trimly;
some start awa wi' saucy pride,
an' jump out owre the chimlie
fu' high that night.
jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e;
wha 'twas, she wadna tell;
but this is jock, an' this is me,
she says in to hersel':
he bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him,
as they wad never mair part:
till fuff! he started up the lum,
an' jean had e'en a sair heart
to see't that night.
poor willie, wi' his bow-kail runt,
was brunt wi' primsie mallie;
an' mary, nae doubt, took the drunt,
to bepar'd to willie:
mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling,
an' her ain fit, it brunt it;
while willie lap, and swore by jing,
'twas just the way he wanted
to be that night.
nell had the fause-house in her min',
she pits hersel an' rob in;
in loving bleeze they sweetly join,
till white in ase they're sobbin:
nell's heart was dancin at the view;
she whisper'd rob to leuk for't:
rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou',
fu' cozie in the neuk for't,
unseen that night.
but merran sat behint their backs,
her thoughts on andrew bell:
she lea'es them gashin at their cracks,
an' slips out—by hersel';
she thro' the yard the nearest taks,
an' for the kiln she goes then,
an' darklins grapit for the bauks,
and in the blue-clue throws then,
right fear't that night.
an' ay she win't, an' ay she swat—
i wat she made nae jaukin;
till something held within the pat,
good lord! but she was quaukin!
but whether 'twas the deil himsel,
or whether 'twas a bauk-en',
or whether it was andrew bell,
she did na wait on talkin
to spier that night.
wee jenny to her graunie says,
“will ye go wi' me, graunie?
i'll eat the apple at the glass,
i gat frae uncle johnie:”
she fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
in wrath she was sae vap'rin,
she notic't na an aizle brunt
her braw, new, worset apron
out thro' that night.
“ye little skelpie-limmer's face!
i daur you try sic sportin,
as seek the foul thief ony place,
for him to spae your fortune:
nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
great cause ye hae to fear it;
for mony a ane has gotten a fright,
an' liv'd an' died deleerit,
on sic a night.
“ae hairst afore the sherra-moor,
i mind't as weel's yestreen—
i was a gilpey then, i'm sure